Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Eight

1. 4:30 am.

2. They are still sleeping. There might be something to these blackout shades.

3. He tells me I’m going to run out of water before I even order. I say something about it being so dry. That we’ve moved here from Chicago. “Welcome!” he says, then adds that he moved to Oregon because it’s gotten so crowded here. “I went to a three-room school in San Ramon. Now….” I understand what he means.

4. Donut Wheel for simple glazed donuts before we decide to head down to Monterey. Today is a good day for a drive and a visit the aquarium.

5. Membership because holy cow the prices. Plus it gives us an excuse to come back at least one more time within the next 365 days.

6. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the ocean.

7. I think they take all this beauty for granted.

8. 1985 Antinori Tignanello. A celebratory bottle in La Bicyclette. Fig, gorgonzola, walnut pizza. So cute, but so crowded. If there’s an off-season, I’ll come back then

9. Hot pink sunset. An awesome sight but I know the spectacular color is because of the smoke and the fires.

10. I think about what it means to be a better steward of the land I am coming to inhabit. How do I wish to be in relationship with this space?

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Seven

1. 4:30.

2. Stomach growling. Where for breakfast? 

3. How much longer until our hunger and sleep cycles adjust? I don’t remember having this problem during my other visits.  

4. The haze is making me think we ought to stay home today.  

5. Tacos and Meadowlark Dairy.

6. The five of us in one room. How many more days to go? At least 4 more. 

7. Hotel laundry room.  

8. First dinner with the new boss. He reminds me so much of my father that it both warms and saddens me.  

9. When will I feel ready? 

10. I need a week’s worth of sleep.  

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Six

1. 4 am. Getting better.

2. He’s hungry. I don’t blame him. Our days have been so odd. Rhythms are non-existent. 

3. Hotel breakfast. The three of them in a both while he and I shop for washers and dryers and try to plan the day. 

4. The kids want to play in an empty house. I want to be out of doors.  

5. The morning light looks like afternoon light because of the smoke from the fires.  

6. Can’t wait for the next open spot. I suggest we head to Muir Beach instead. They don’t want to go but we insist that they’ll love it.  

7. Should have had them take off their socks and shoes. They are caked in wet sand. I actually don’t care.

8. “I’ve never felt so free.” - Dean

9. We haven’t yet pulled away and they already want to know when we can come back.  

10. I have a lot to learn. But that’s why we’re here.  

10.1 “You’re right. In-n-Out is  better than Portillo’s.” - Dash

10.2 The sky is more hazy than when we left this morning. I sign up for text alerts.  

10.3 I keep looking at the listing showing “sold.” It still doesn’t feel real. Maybe once the stuff is here and we’re back in our own car it will set in that this is not just a visit. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Five

1. I don’t know what time it is but I know it’s early. Too early to be awake. 

2. Tossing and turning while trying to practice some breathing to help me fall asleep.  

3. The sound of splashing water on the concrete. The feeling of the coldness setting into my hands. 

4. TSA pre-check.  

5. She’s from Rockford but California has been home for 40 years.  

6. No wi-fi. 

7. I’m just so tired.  

8. In the back is an orange or grapefruit tree, a bird of paradise plant, something else I can’t yet name. They love the house. I am relieved. The patio table was left. There will dinners outside soon.  

9. We eat a big lunch/dinner. Artichoke dip ad Gorgonzola and pesto ravioli and a glass of Pinot Noir from Santa Lucia Highlands. I remember how much it’s going to be to have access to so many other Californian wines. 

10. Costco. 

10.1 CBD gel on the temples and the neck and my arm.  

10.2 5:30 and it’s bed time for me. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Four

1. 2:37 am.

2. Drink water. It is the new moon. An auspicious choice to move on this day.

   3. I wake the children and make them finish yesterday’s bagels. The oldest isn’t hungry. I don’t blame him.  

   4. It’s really cold.  

   5. I order 4 large coffees.  “Four large coffees? What happened?”

   6. I turn back to wave one more time. He tells me to stop looking back.   

   7. So cold. 

   8. My leggings are gray from dust and dirt. I wipe down all the baseboards and cobwebs that hid behind the larger pieces of furniture. I see new scuff marks and worry the new owners will notice them. There is no way to fully erase the evidence of living. 

   9. I feel something warm running down my cheek. I look in the mirror to see a weeping gash on the side of my eye. I walk out of the bathroom and tell him that I think I need to get stitches.  

   10. The two of them are crying and that makes me cry.  

   10.1 75 Wine Sauvignon Blanc under the covers. My head and eye still hurt. I need more sleep. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Three

1. 3 am.

2. Bagel run. Don’t forget the plastic knives for butter.

3. Still sick to the stomach. I think to myself, “This is a thing for you now, isn’t it? This is the new way your body manifests stress.”

4. Weak coffee.

5. And like that, the weight is lifted and we’re leaning back into relief. No more stomach pains.

6. This is the part that I’m actually dreading the most.

7. I take a bit of cake and grab his hand. We did it.

8. There is always more than you think there is.

9. Arepas dropped off at the front door.

10. Midnight folding. Frasier. To-do list for tomorrow. Weak eyes. I can sleep on the plane.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Three

1. 3 am.

2. Bagel run. Don’t forget the plastic knives for butter.

3. Still sick to the stomach. I think to myself, “This is a thing for you now, isn’t it? This is the new way your body manifests stress.”

4. Weak coffee.

5. And like that, the weight is lifted and we’re leaning back into relief. No more stomach pains.

6. This is the part that I’m actually dreading the most.

7. I take a bit of cake and grab his hand. We did it.

8. There is always more than you think there is.

9. Arepas dropped off at the front door.

10. Midnight folding. Frasier. To-do list for tomorrow. Weak eyes. I can sleep on the plane.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Two

1. 3 am.

2. Maybe I would have fallen back asleep if I had turned out his night light.

3. Fireplace. Coffee. Water. Mind racing. So many boxes, too many of them empty.

4. I can’t quite read their mood. “It’s your last Monday!” I say.

5. I watch the leaves blow across the front yard. The rain and the winds have stripped the trees. The streets are littered with wet yellow piles.

6. Lunch break.

7. That was not what we were expecting.

8. That feeling of being nauseated. Like you want to throw up but you can’t. I do breathing exercises in the pick-up line. If I feel this way, I can only imagine that he also feels this way which makes me feel even worse.

9. But it can be figured out.

10. Nothing about this has been easy. I’m choosing to believe it will be worth it in the end.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Two

1. 3 am.

2. Maybe I would have fallen back asleep if I had turned out his night light.

3. Fireplace. Coffee. Water. Mind racing. So many boxes, too many of them empty.

4. I can’t quite read their mood. “It’s your last Monday!” I say.

5. I watch the leaves blow across the front yard. The rain and the winds have stripped the trees. The streets are littered with wet yellow piles.

6. Lunch break.

7. That was not what we were expecting.

8. That feeling of being nauseated. Like you want to throw up but you can’t. I do breathing exercises in the pick-up line. If I feel this way, I can only imagine that he also feels this way which makes me feel even worse.

9. But it can be figured out.

10. Nothing about this has been easy. I’m choosing to believe it will be worth it in the end.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-One

1. I can still hear the rain slapping the siding.

2. The kind of morning you just want to sleep through. I just want to bring my coffee back to bed. But instead I walk around in circles in the kitchen, convinced that if I stop to sit I won’t ever get back up.

3. The basement is almost done. How does one pack a bean bag chair? I don’t think I have a box big enough for this.

4. I make a bouquet of parsley, thyme, bay leaf, leek, and peppercorn for the soup. It looks like a little bundle of magic.

5. She comes to the door with her mother and a big bag. Gifts for children. Her mother says she came home and cried because we are moving. I try not to cry in front of my babysitter. I tell her mother she’s done a fantastic job raising her daughter.

6. Inside the tissue paper is the apron that belonged to her great-grandmother. Before she leaves, I tell her that she’s my favorite Auntie. I will miss her the most.

7. I get so much more done when I’m alone.

8. It’s still dark and cold and rainy. This is the weather I won’t miss.

9. Dinner for them is a bag of frozen little pizza rolls that I grabbed from Target this morning, pretzels, no veggies. I’ll make it up to them later.

10. 4 days.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-One

1. I can still hear the rain slapping the siding.

2. The kind of morning you just want to sleep through. I just want to bring my coffee back to bed. But instead I walk around in circles in the kitchen, convinced that if I stop to sit I won’t ever get back up.

3. The basement is almost done. How does one pack a bean bag chair? I don’t think I have a box big enough for this.

4. I make a bouquet of parsley, thyme, bay leaf, leek, and peppercorn for the soup. It looks like a little bundle of magic.

5. She comes to the door with her mother and a big bag. Gifts for children. Her mother says she came home and cried because we are moving. I try not to cry in front of my babysitter. I tell her mother she’s done a fantastic job raising her daughter.

6. Inside the tissue paper is the apron that belonged to her great-grandmother. Before she leaves, I tell her that she’s my favorite Auntie. I will miss her the most.

7. I get so much more done when I’m alone.

8. It’s still dark and cold and rainy. This is the weather I won’t miss.

9. Dinner for them is a bag of frozen little pizza rolls that I grabbed from Target this morning, pretzels, no veggies. I’ll make it up to them later.

10. 4 days.

Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety

1. I wanted to sleep in.

2. 6:30 grocery store run for chicken and brussel sprouts. There’s something else I should be getting but I can’t remember what it is.

3. The way the sunlight is turning the glass on the counter into amber.

   4. “You’re giving gifts but you’re the one moving?”  

   5. I realize that most people don’t want to be seen at 9:30 am on a Saturday morning so the rest of my deliveries are quiet porch drop-offs.  

   6. I confess that I didn’t get a chance to sweep before she got there. I try not to think that this is the last time we’ll be on this couch together.  

   7. Layers of gray. 

   8. I haven’t touched a box yet today and this is probably not a good thing.  

   9. But we really do mean it that they are the best neighbors we could have ever had.

   10. Her pumpkin cake tastes like Thanksgiving. Tastes like home. Tastes like being warm in front of the fire. 

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Nine

1. Ok.

2. Donuts. Most likely the last time I’ll ever grab a dozen from this tiny shop on the corner. I think about making the drive down to Livermore so the kids can have a hot donut from The Donut Wheel.

3. He tells me that he wants to gift my oldest a new mic for the xbox so that they can talk to each other. I almost cry at the sweetness of this 10 year-old. So much gratitude for the parents out there growing compassionate children.

4. Coffee + stereo turned up way too loud. Sun shining. I pull up in front of her house and play in the thick carpet of leaves. I think of how I used to love the walk to school from the green house this time of year. I would kick up the leaves and listen to the rustle and the crunch.

5. Her fiddle leaf has gotten so big.

6. I don’t even make it to Washington Street before the tears start falling. I blame “As” by Stevie Wonder. I have no tissues and my coat is too thick to get to the sleeves of my sweater.

7. I eat a bowl of apple crisp and drink a cup of coffee with her at the table. The hour has passed far too quickly.

8. A bottle of 2001 Grange, some Clos Pegase Chardonnay, and Swanson Cignet Merlot. Even after the crab cakes, the coconut shrimp. the rib-eye cap, and the truffle fries—that Grange was the best thing I put in my mouth.

9. Does crying at the dinner table make people uncomfortable? Who cares. I already told them I’d had an emotional day.

10. I read her letter in bed. Then he reads her letter in bed. We both are tearing up a little as we roll over to go to sleep.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Nine

1. Ok.

2. Donuts. Most likely the last time I’ll ever grab a dozen from this tiny shop on the corner. I think about making the drive down to Livermore so the kids can have a hot donut from The Donut Wheel.

3. He tells me that he wants to gift my oldest a new mic for the xbox so that they can talk to each other. I almost cry at the sweetness of this 10 year-old. So much gratitude for the parents out there growing compassionate children.

4. Coffee + stereo turned up way too loud. Sun shining. I pull up in front of her house and play in the thick carpet of leaves. I think of how I used to love the walk to school from the green house this time of year. I would kick up the leaves and listen to the rustle and the crunch.

5. Her fiddle leaf has gotten so big.

6. I don’t even make it to Washington Street before the tears start falling. I blame “As” by Stevie Wonder. I have no tissues and my coat is too thick to get to the sleeves of my sweater.

7. I eat a bowl of apple crisp and drink a cup of coffee with her at the table. The hour has passed far too quickly.

8. A bottle of 2001 Grange, some Clos Pegase Chardonnay, and Swanson Cignet Merlot. Even after the crab cakes, the coconut shrimp. the rib-eye cap, and the truffle fries—that Grange was the best thing I put in my mouth.

9. Does crying at the dinner table make people uncomfortable? Who cares. I already told them I’d had an emotional day.

10. I read her letter in bed. Then he reads her letter in bed. We both are tearing up a little as we roll over to go to sleep.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Eight

1. I hear a lot of rustling. They better not be eating candy.

2. The irony of spending hours collecting stuff that I ultimately just want to throw away.

3. Scones. It’s still so dark. I am still thinking of last night and the feelings and reminding myself that I did and am doing the best I can.

4. Weak decaf coffee in a styrofoam cup. White, shiny tile floor. Gray light pouring in through tall windows. It’s a quiet morning in the dealership. It takes way less time to sell a car than it does to buy it. I’m going to miss those gigantic cup holders.

5. Speed clean.

6. The nervous excitement in his voice. Sometimes we dreamers guard our dreams a little too fiercely.

7. I meet with all the teachers. Everyone expresses disappointment and sadness in them leaving. I’m still so new to this school that I can’t really find any of the classrooms. I fill out the paperwork for withdrawal. “Next Wednesday,” I say.

8. Homemade spaghetti sauce, chianti classico, two extra children at the dinner table. I am telling myself to remember that this feels good. That even though I think I can’t handle the energy of extra children, that I can find the joy in feeding them a good meal. That having a table full of laughter is a great thing. And I hope that our table continues to be one where kids feel comfortable being themselves.

9. Resting bitch face probably also doesn’t help very much.

10. It’s our last Thursday.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Eight

1. I hear a lot of rustling. They better not be eating candy.

2. The irony of spending hours collecting stuff that I ultimately just want to throw away.

3. Scones. It’s still so dark. I am still thinking of last night and the feelings and reminding myself that I did and am doing the best I can.

4. Weak decaf coffee in a styrofoam cup. White, shiny tile floor. Gray light pouring in through tall windows. It’s a quiet morning in the dealership. It takes way less time to sell a car than it does to buy it. I’m going to miss those gigantic cup holders.

5. Speed clean.

6. The nervous excitement in his voice. Sometimes we dreamers guard our dreams a little too fiercely.

7. I meet with all the teachers. Everyone expresses disappointment and sadness in them leaving. I’m still so new to this school that I can’t really find any of the classrooms. I fill out the paperwork for withdrawal. “Next Wednesday,” I say.

8. Homemade spaghetti sauce, chianti classico, two extra children at the dinner table. I am telling myself to remember that this feels good. That even though I think I can’t handle the energy of extra children, that I can find the joy in feeding them a good meal. That having a table full of laughter is a great thing. And I hope that our table continues to be one where kids feel comfortable being themselves.

9. Resting bitch face probably also doesn’t help very much.

10. It’s our last Thursday.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Seven

1. Maritza was a ticket agent but she couldn’t help me. No one could help me get the rest of the 5 boarding passes. I just wanted to get home.

2. My phone says that it’s a planning day. Meaning, I have to schedule the transport of the car and prepare the other for sale, call the new school to see if there’s room for my kids and decide on a start day, wait for boxes to be delivered, arrange funds, pack.

3. Hot water with lemon in front of the fireplace. The sound of something clinking against the dryer drum, rain drops on window screens refracting the light.

4. The school secretary seems dismissive but then I realize that I called her right at the beginning of the school day.

5. Maybe it’s adrenaline but I’m not hungry at all.

6. She’s late but also on time. I wish that it hadn’t had to be like this for all of these years. I still mourn what could have been.

7. It’s really the most perfect kind of weather for Halloween. Last year was so cold; the year before that I think was a little rainy. Or maybe that was the really warm day? Today is really beautiful and I don’t mind standing outside in the line to watch the parade.

8. Everyone seems to be a little out of sorts. She gives me a hug and apologizes for talking back. I tell her that it’s okay. We’re all a little stressed and tired.

9. The kids want to trick-or-treat with friends. I try to explain that in the old neighborhood we had friends and those kinds of plans but that I did not hear anything from anyone about groups and so, like last year, we’ll walk together as a family and then see what happens.

10. He says that maybe in the next city I shouldn’t talk so openly in my social media posts about my discomforts or observations about where I live. That maybe that kind of honesty creates distance. That people don’t understand me. I try to think about all the things that I might have wrote 1.5 years ago. “You’re warm,” he says, “but only after you get to know someone.” I tell him that friendships also take time and that we were barely here. But I am feeling judged.

10.1 He opens old wounds. I’ve spent a lot of my life learning how to belong. And I did try here too. Two dinner parties, an herbal workshop, an attempt at a wine and poetry reading. I did try. And if nothing else, I was just being myself. I am spiraling into all the ways I might have offended my neighbors with what I perceived to be openness that could have come across as judgement. I am reminded to mind my words. I’m also reminded that this is the danger of thinking you can know someone through this digital realm only.

10.2 I’ll try again and do better or differently in the next place.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Six

1. I thought it was my alarm but it’s my mother calling me from Tel Aviv. She wants to know which pair of earrings I want.

2. Still so dark. What’s for breakfast? I’ll let them eat those donuts. I’ll run out and get coffee.

3. Coffee and candy corn.

4. I sit at the table and write out the recipe for roasted chicken. He says, “You should MAKE it and then give them this card.” I tell him that most people don’t want to eat hot chicken at 9:30 in the morning.

5. Auditing time. I set a timer for Instagram. You can really do that now. And it tells me that I’ve already reached an hour. The thing is, though, that what I often do is set my phone on the counter and let the stories run through so that I can get back to seeing the stuff from people I really want to see. So I’ve already met my time limit, even though I technically haven’t been on Instagram. Hmmm.

6. I make us take a group photo. We scrunch together on the sofa in front of the canvas of the trees. They are all little rays of light to me. I’m trying to do like what Michael did on his last day at Dunder-Mifflin. Just…let’s pretend that this is a normal day. I want to see you in the usual context. I don’t want the memory to be of good-bye. I want to remember the way we circled and ate and talked and prayed.

7. Hard cider.

8. I could say that nothing got accomplished today but that’s a lie. My heart has done heavy lifting.

9. The sound of rain against the roof.

10. I know the tears will come later.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Five

1. No one wants to get boo’d by their kid at 6 am.

2. Forgot to get coffee. Will be a morning for hot tea instead.

3. I cave and buy a large coffee from starbucks on my way home. He’s off to get an x-ray of his chest and I have piles and piles of laundry to fold.

4. Three boxes of books and back issues of Wine Spectator to Half Price Books. She gives me $4 for the lot and seems surprised when I take it. “I’m moving. Anything is better than nothing,” I say with a smile and then put that $4 towards a copy of “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.”

5. We use a calculator to figure out how many boxes to order from the movers. I hope this is enough. You don’t realize how much you until you begin to pack it up all over again. And I wasn’t even in this house long enough to accumulate anything.

6. Rectangles of sun. I could lie here all day.

7. All of the logistics make my head spin. I keep saying, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

8. I know what to do.

9. 4 wines, 2 white and 2 red. I guess the first one pretty easily. The second one is a little harder. The 3rd is kind of challenging but I get the 4th pretty quickly because we just had 2 bottles of it the night before. What a fun way to prepare for examinations.

10. I check the owner’s dashboard again to see if there’s anything else I need to know. There’s nothing. Just the countdown until we close. From that date I subtract one for the day we leave. Then I subtract one more to get to the day the movers arrive. 9 days.

Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Four

1. Still so dark but it’s 6:23. I see a text from my mom. They are on their way to Jerusalem.

2. Contemplating a sunrise walk even though the sky is covered over with thick gray clouds. I make coffee and fill a bowl with cereal and flax milk.

3. The sound of tape stretching across a box.

4. I park under the maple and its bouquet of red leaves. The wind is blowing everything around. It’s snowing leaves.

5. I decide to start from the very beginning. I hear the wisdom that I needed to hear. I think about whether or not I like how Christian this is. I think about the conversations we’ve had in mom’s group about how one’s relationship with God changes shape over time. I am still not sure where I am on the line between belief and disbelief.

6. But my kind faith doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. And then I see A’Driane’s post.

7. I take a 2.5 hour nap. I blame it on the weather. And on mental exhaustion.

8. I am craving time and space to sit and make art. I am packing up a box of Fever Dreams and all I want to think about are the projects for next October.

9. Haven’t been to Meson Sabika since our first friend date. 2012 Conde de Haro Cava and two bottles of 2009 of Vino Ardanza. “Are we celebrating anything today?” “Friendship.”

10. He’s putting a pillow in its case. “This is our second to last Sunday in this house.”